


My Suicide Note

by Neptunium134



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Death, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, LITERALLY, Self-Harm, Suicide, Trigger Warnings, i wrote this at 2am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-08-09 01:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16440761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neptunium134/pseuds/Neptunium134
Summary: (Set after "I am Damaged")After several events, the world comes crumbling down for some Formula 1 drivers.Please note, the story deals with suicide and self-harm. Do not read if you suffer from these as these are TRIGGER WARNINGS.Please speak to someone if you are suicidal or self-harmful. Talking often helps.





	1. Valtteri Bottas- overdose

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS- suicide, suicidal themes.
> 
> READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Valtteri sat in the dark of his apartment kitchen.

 

He'd just found the note his wife had left him three months ago, saying she was leaving him for another lover.

 

The press hadn’t made things better, still insisting on calling a “wingman” to Lewis, and he was now in fear Mercedes would sign his seat to a younger driver if they thought he wasn't performing well enough.

 

He'd missed two of the previous races due to an illness that rendered him bedridden, and while he did drive at the last race, he finished a measly 5th place behind Verstappen.

Once he'd parked the car in the garage, he promptly vomited in his helmet and had almost passed out.

 

His phone buzzed, altering him of a notification. The Finn let out a small sigh and picked up the mobile.

It was from his PR, confirming his worst fears.

 

_Hey Val, sorry to tell you but the team decided you weren't performing this year, and have decided to let Esteban Ocon have your seat. You're no longer under contract as a Mercedes driver, and all the other teams are full._

_It was a pleasure working with you._

 

Valtteri put his phone down, and buried his face in his arms, sobbing violently into them, his breath coming in harsh gasps and being let out as hiccups.

 

His phone buzzed again, this time it was Toto with the official yield, and Valtteri threw his phone across the countertop.

 

The clock glinted in the bright moonlight, the time mocking him.

 

00:03, August 28.

His birthday.

 

Valtteri didn't feel like celebrating, normally he and Emilia would go out for lunch and have a quiet night in with some takeaway.

 

He had one present for himself- a way out of this.

 

The Finn opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out two bottles of pills, sitting back at the breakfast bar and pulling out some bottle of alcohol.

 

His phone buzzed once more, and Valtteri turned it off for the final time.

 

He uncapped one of the bottles and tipped his head back, swallowing the bottle’s entire contents and taking a swig of liquor to wash them down.

He uncapped the second bottle, and swallowed the pills. Two more gulps of liquor later and he fell off the stool, the liquor bottle falling from his hand and smashing on the floor, Valtteri landing on the other side of it.

 

His body convulsed, muscles contracting and spasming, his breath getting harsher and harsher.

 

His throat constricted, cutting off his air flow. Valtteri smiled slightly as he felt his heart beating slower…..and slower…..and slower.

 

His body spasmed one last time, and then went limp.

  
  


Valtteri Bottas was dead.

  
  
  


_Name: Valtteri Viktor Bottas_

_Time of death: 00:07_

_Type of death: Overdose of zopiclone (sleeping pills)_


	2. Valtteri Bottas- One Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paddock finds out about Valtteri's suicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS- mentions of suicide from two people.

Mercedes were getting worried about Valtteri. He hadn’t returned any calls or texts.

At first they thought he was busy, celebrating his birthday with his wife, so they brushed it off.

 

Lewis wasn’t buying it and decided to go and see if Valtteri was okay, maybe he was sick and couldn’t answer his phone, or maybe he’d been attacked and couldn’t call for help.

 

The Brit arrived outside Valtteri’s flat and knocked on the door, not wanting to disturb Valtteri if he was with his wife.

When there was no answer, he pressed the doorbell.

 

The shrill buzz rang through the silence of the apartment.

 

Lewis frowned, deciding to unlock the door using the key Emilia had given him when Valtteri had been ill with a fever and she was away for training. Back when she cared about him enough to let his teammate have a key and free entry to their flat.

For once Lewis was glad of the small piece of cool metal on his keychain as he pushed open the door.

 

The living room was empty, as was the bedroom surprisingly. The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar, and the medicine cabinet was open.

That didn’t ease Lewis’ worry.

 

Maybe Val just needed some painkillers and forgot to close the cabinet? He'd done it, it was pretty common.

 

The Brit headed into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks.

 

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but not this.

 

He wasn't expecting to see Valtteri's lifeless body on the floor and a smashed bottle next to him, the dark liquid soaking into the grouting of the tiles.

Two empty pill bottles stood innocently on the countertop, unaware they had just caused murder of the highest degree.

 

Lewis dropped to his knees next to Valtteri’s body, fingers pressed against his former teammate’s pulse point, searching for the heartbeat he knew wasn’t there.

 

His hands fumbled for his phone, fingers shaking as he dialled for the emergency services, voice cracking as he told them what happened.

 

He choked back a sob as he called Toto, the team principle picking up on the second ring.

 

“Lewis?” Toto asked. “Are you okay?”

 

“It’s Val.” Lewis tried to hold back his tears. “He killed himself.”

  
  


“Valtteri…. committed suicide?”  Toto asked eventually.

 

Lewis finally let the tears flow down his face, unable to say anything in response.

 

“Shit… I’m coming over.” Toto hung up, leaving Lewis in silence.

 

The Brit’s phone finally slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.

 

He pulled Valtteri onto his lap, openly sobbing, his tears splashing onto the Finn’s cold, ashen grey face.

He pressed a kiss to Val’s forehead and buried his face in the crook of Val’s neck, inhaling the faint scent of Valtteri Bottas that was left.

 

Toto arrived the same time the paramedics did, sitting with Lewis as Valtteri was lifted from his arms and placed onto the stretcher, a white sheet laid over him.

  


Toto called an emergency Mercedes team meeting, where he announced Valtteri’s suicide. The team sat in silence, Esteban sinking further into his seat.

 

It couldn’t be happening, not again.

 

He remembered Lance, and the Canadian’s suicide after what Esteban had done. It was all his fault last time, and he was certain it as his fault this time.

 

He always seemed to fuck things up.

 

To say the paddock was shocked would be an understatement. When Valtteri’s death was announced, the place fell silent, even the wind dropped.

 

They decided to hold a press conference. Lewis declined the offer of announcing his teammate’s death. Kimi was considered, but he too declined, so the honour fell to Sebastian.

 

The drivers filed into the press room, all dressed in black instead of their usual team attire.

 

Once the press had settled down, Sebastian stood up, a piece of paper in his hand.

 

“Two days ago, Valtteri Bottas committed suicide by swallowing an overdose of sleeping pills from his medicine cabinet. We do not know why he was compelled to do this, but we would like to ask you not to point fingers at anybody. The race on Sunday has been cancelled as we would like time to sort this out. We will not be taking questions on this matter.”

 

When he finished, all the drivers stood up and left.

  


The day of Valtteri’s funeral was cold. Thick snow lay on the ground from the night before and the drivers all huddled together around Val’s grave.

 

They watched as the coffin was lowered into Valtteri’s grave.

 

Emilia stood near the back of the crowd around her ex-husband’s tombstone.

She knew she shouldn’t be there, she didn’t know why she decided to attend, why she’d even been invited.

 

She watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground and was surprised when she was asked to lay a small shovel of dirt into the grave.

 

The Finn quickly discharged her shovel of dirt, watching as it hit the dark wood of Valtteri’s coffin.

 

Suddenly she knew why she was there. Why they were all there.

 

They wanted to see Valtteri, to say goodbye before he was gone forever.

 

One final race.

 

One concluding battle.

 

One bittersweet end.

 

One last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also wrote this at 2 am.
> 
> Fun!
> 
>  
> 
> God, I hope you don't think I'm a psychopath. I'm not! I promise!
> 
>  
> 
> I'm just weird and like writing about my favourite F1 drivers committing suicide.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm messed up.


	3. Kimi Räikkönen- severed trachea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his wife's death, Kimi finds it hard to cope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIGGER WARNING- suicide, throat-slitting, mentions of death.
> 
> Read at your own risk.

Kimi sighed, resting his face in his hands. 

 

He downed another shot of vodka and stood up, paying the bartender for the drinks before leaving the bar.

 

He would’ve happily stayed there all night, but the bartender was already giving him weird looks and he really couldn’t deal with that right now.

 

It was October, so temperatures were below freezing and a thin layer of frost carpeted the ground, crunching under Kimi’s boots.

 

The Finn wasn’t affected by the cold, but right now he was frozen to the core, his heart literally made of ice. He was the Iceman through and through.

 

Last week he had gotten a call from the Finnish police, telling him his wife was involved in a driving accident. A drunk truck driver had run a red light, skidded on the icy ground and crashed headlong into  Minttu’s car. The truck driver was pronounced dead at the scene and Minttu died in hospital two days later, when Kimi had won in America.

Needless to say that news put a dampener on his spirts.

 

He’d flown back to Finland for the funeral, leaving the children at his parents’ house and stood in the freezing cold, the snow falling heavily around him, watching as his wife’s coffin was lowered into the ground.

 

He sat in the silence of the living room, the darkness closing in around him, suffocating him, blinding him, deafening him-

 

Kimi lept up and rushed from the room, into the kitchen. 

 

He slammed into the table, gasping for breath, inout, inout, inout, in-

 

He collapsed against the table, sobbing, pounding his fist against the wood. He overturned the table, upsetting the chairs on either side. He threw himself against the counter, knocking over the utensils, his hand brushing against the knife block.

 

His hand clasped around the handle of one of the knives, pulling it out hastily. 

Kimi held the knife to his throat. It would be so easy- just press the tip in and pull it down, the blood would pour out and be over in minutes.

 

He took a shaky breath and dug the tip into the soft flesh of his throat, dragging the blade down, severing his trachea.

 

The knife clattered to the floor and Kimi slumped against the counter, gripping the top. Blood poured down his neck, soaking his shirt and he coughed, bringing up more blood.

 

The Finn fell to the floor, choking, his back arched, mouth open in a silent cry.

 

His body sagged and lay still.

  
  
  


Kimi Räikkönen was dead.

  
  
  


_ Name:  _ _ Kimi-Matias  _ _ Räikkönen _

_ Time of death: 22:34 _

_ Type of death: Blood loss from severed trachea  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it bad I was eating a bowl of popcorn while writing this?
> 
>  
> 
> Is it also bad when I feel really depressed, I go and write about F1 drivers committing suicide?


	4. Kimi Räikkönen- Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paddock finds out about Kimi’s suicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS- mentions of suicide.

Kimi hadn’t been at the paddock for three days, and Sebastian was getting worried. He wasn’t answering Seb’s calls or texts and the landline went straight to voicemail.

 

His phone rang, startling him. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID.

 

_ Kimi _

 

He grinned, accepting the call and pressing his phone to his ear.

 

“Hey, Kim-”

 

He was cut off by the sound of gasping on the other end of the phone.

“Hey, are you alright?” He asked.

 

“T-there’s a body…” A voice that was  _ definitely not _ Kimi’s said.

 

Sebastian jumped up. “At Kimi’s?”

 

“Whoever’s phone this is, there’s a body in the kitchen and blood. So much blood…” The voice gasped.

 

“I’ll be right there.”

 

Seb hung up the phone and lept up, rushing to his car.

 

He drove to Kimi’s, making it in record time.

 

A young man was standing outside, looking visibly shaken when Sebastian arrived, the German sprinting from his car to the house.

 

Sebastian flew through the house, skidding around the living room into the kitchen, the young man following him.

 

There was so much blood. 

 

The liquid coated the floor, covering every available surface. Sebastian stepped around it, not wanting the fluid on his shoes.

 

He could see Kimi’s feet poking out around the counter. The German took a deep breath and headed around, his breath leaving him as he looked upon his friend’s body.

 

Kimi lay in a pool of his own blood, a knife an arm's length away, his throat slit in half, the blood there drying to his skin, cracked and pale.

 

Seb grabbed the edge of the counter, willing himself to take a deep breath, freaking out would  _ not  _ be useful in any way.

 

He straightened up, took his phone out and called for an ambulance to take Kimi’s body away before calling Maurizio.

 

The Ferrari team principal seemed surprised at the news of Kimi’s suicide, but promised Sebastian he would break the news to the team.

 

Seb stayed with Kimi until the paramedics whisked him off to the hospital and the German drove back to the paddock in silence.

 

When he arrived, the paddock was covered in an iron curtain. No-one spoke, a few Ferrari engineers gave him small, sad smiles, but nothing more than that.

 

Once again he was given the job of announcing Kimi’s death on the press conference.

 

He broke down halfway through, sobbing his eyes out, and Fernando quickly ended the conference, stating the race was cancelled.

 

The Spaniard hurled Seb out of the conference room and into his motorhome room, not caring about the German’s tears that were soaking his shirt.

 

The two sat in the stillness of the motorhome, mourning the loss of a ex-teammate and friend.

 

The temperature in the room dropped slightly, but only Fernando noticed it, shivering slightly.

 

A dark blur caught his eye, vanishing as soon as it appeared.

 

_ Shadows,  _ he told himself.  _ Everywhere they follow. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually much different to the original version of Kimi’s suicide. Much different.
> 
>  
> 
> Oh well, it's finished.


	5. Fernando Alonso- alkali ingestion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fernando's had a rough season and is feeling insecure about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS- suicide, ingestion of drain cleaner, suicidal themes.
> 
> READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Fernando tipped his face towards the stream of hot water gushing from the shower head.

 

The last week hadn't been good for him, having retired from three races and finishing second to last, just ahead of Brendon, who had a penalty for exiting the track and gaining an advantage at the last race.

 

The Spaniard turned off the water and grabbed a towel from the radiator, wrapping it around his waist. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and stopped, hand in midair as he reached for the door handle.

 

He had lost a lot of weight, not having much of an appetite recently and often burning off anything he did consume through a rigorous training programme.

 

It didn’t make much difference, the car still had issues and he rarely finished in the top 10, most of his races ending early due to mechanical issues.

 

Fernando glared at his reflection, hating every part of himself. The scars, the patches of skin leftover from the burns he suffered, even the tattoo on his back he claimed gave him strength.

 

He hated all of it.

 

Fernando quickly left the room, drying himself. He grabbed a t-shirt and jeans, pulling them on and lay on the hotel bed.

 

Tears ran down his face and he pulled a hand down past his eyes, softly sobbing into his palm.

 

He used to be great, one of the best drivers Formula One had ever seen.

 

What was he now?

 

_ Am like an old dog. Everyone just feels sorry for it so they humour it but the best thing to do would be to put it out of its misery and save everyone else the trouble. _ He thought bitterly.  _ No one needs me anymore, would be easier for everyone if I am not here. _

 

The Spaniard pushed himself up off the bed and went back into the bathroom. He searched for something,  _ anything _ , to end this shithole he called a life.

 

He pulled out a bottle of drain cleaner from under the sink, turning the bottle over in his hands a few times before yanking the lid off and throwing it somewhere behind him.

 

Fernando brought the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back, allowing the blue liquid to stream down his throat and pool in his stomach.

 

He coughed and dropped the bottle, spilling the rest of the drain cleaner on the floor. He gripped his throat, lips tinged blue, a small streak of cobalt escaping from his mouth and dribbling down the side of his chin.

 

Fernando dropped to the floor, collapsing in the growing puddle of drain cleaner.

 

He let out a final cough, the air leaving his lungs and head lolling to the side.

  
  
  


Fernando Alonso was dead.

  
  
  
  


_ Name:  _ _ Fernando Alonso Díaz _

_ Time of death: 19:42 _

_ Type of death: Ingestion of an alkaline substance with pH 14 (liquid drain cleaner) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally didn't take the drinking drain cleaner from Heathers *cough cough*
> 
> Totally did.
> 
> And I know it's very unlikely there would be drain cleaner in a hotel bathroom just conveniently sat there but this entire story's unlikely, oh well.
> 
> I did research on this, and bleach isn't the same as liquid drain cleaner so I had to rename the part, and liquid drain cleaner does have a pH14, making it dangerously alkaline, meaning if you drank it, it would kill you, just like if you drank battery acid which is pH1 (dangerously acidic)


	6. Fernando Alonso- Stay Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paddock finds out about Fernando’s suicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS- mentions of suicide and past suicide.

Stoffel gently knocked on Fernando’s door early the next day.

 

“Fernando? We have a press conference in an hour. Zak’s getting annoyed you’re not at the paddock.”

 

There was no answer.

 

Stoffel knocked again. “Nando?”

 

Still no answer.

 

The Belgian’s brow furrowed as he frowned. He knocked once again.

 

“Fernando?” 

 

Half-expecting the Spaniard to come bowling out, sighing and tutting at him, grumbling about something or other, Stoffel was surprised to be met with silence once again.

 

Fearing the worst, he fumbled with the keycard to Fernando’s room, grateful for Zak making them take the other’s spare room key as he pressed it against the lock pad on the handle.

 

The lock buzzed and the green light signified the door was unlocked so Stoffel pushed down on the handle and opened the door.

 

Fernando wasn’t in bed, but the slightly ruffled sheets indicated they had seen Fernando’s presence at some point. His clothes were still in his suitcase, not strewn about the room like Stoffel’s were when he was frantically searching for a McLaren shirt that morning.

There were painkillers on the bedside table, unopened and sitting there innocently. Stoffel glared at them, knowing what had happened to Valtteri.

 

The door to the ensuite was slightly ajar and Stoffel pushed it open, slightly afraid of what was on the other side.

 

He fell to his knees.

 

“NO!”

 

Tears were running down his cheeks as he pulled his teammate’s head into his lap, Fernando’s scarily white face standing out against the black of Stoffel’s jeans, his eyes closed and a small trickle of blue escaping from the left corner of his mouth and staining his chin.

 

“STAY ALIVE.” Stoffel screamed, his tears splashing onto Fernando’s face like raindrops on a window.

 

He shook Fernando, yelling until his voice was hoarse, pleading, begging for the Spaniard to be alive, for this to be a dream, a nightmare. Any minute now he’d wake up and Fernando would be alright, he’d be alive.

 

“Just stay alive, that would be enough…” He sobbed into Fernando’s shoulder.

 

He heard footsteps behind him, and a sharp intake of breath, signifying someone else’s presence in the room.

 

A hand gripped his shoulder, tenderly coaxing him away from Fernando’s body and Stoffel let out a wail of anguish, clutching onto the Spaniard.

 

“Sir,” a gentle voice said, prising Stoffel’s hands off of Fernando and guiding him out of the room and towards his own.

 

An hour of fussing by the hotel staff and five calls from Zak later, Stoffel headed to the Paddock for the press conference where they would announce Fernando’s death.

 

The weather was surprisingly appropriate for once, grey clouds crammed together in the sky and pitiful rain drizzled, barely enough to even dampen the ground.

 

Stoffel sat in silence as one of the other drivers- he wasn’t paying attention, maybe like Brendon or Kevin or someone?- read from a piece of paper announcing Fernando’s death.

 

Once again the race was cancelled and the press were dismissed.

 

Stoffel sat in his driver’s room, watching the rain patter on the window.

 

“Just stay alive, that would be enough.” He mumbled to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Waffle...
> 
> I feel like he would be begging Nando to "stay alive", I would be.
> 
>  
> 
> Does anyone know where Stoffel’s lines came from? I'd be quite surprised if anyone did.


	7. Daniel Ricciardo- allergic reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After yet another DNF with Red Bull, and losing his seat at Renault, Daniel's demons are brought to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS- suicide, anaphylactic shock, asphyxiation, suicidal themes.
> 
> READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Daniel slumped against the sofa in his hotel room.

 

It was late and the black of night mocked him as he drew the curtains and flicked on the light.

 

Brazil was another DNF for the Australian and Renault were now removing his contract with them.

 

Daniel was now left without a seat for next year and he didn’t think it could get any worse.

 

If only life would stop biting his ass-

 

He turned the TV on just as the news began.

 

_ "Daniel Ricciardo has lost his seat at Renault-" _

 

He turned the TV off just as the news began.

 

Sighing, he sank further into the soft cushions of the sofa, his phone pinging and he glanced at the text.

 

It was from Max.

 

_ Hey Dan, are you ok? I know that was a shit race for you and I was wondering if you wanted to come over for some drinks to forget about it? _

 

He ignored his teammate and turned his phone off. 

 

A glass bowl filled with cashew nuts glinted in the light of the room, maliciously laughing at Dan.

He was deathly allergic to cashews, how appropriate the staff had left them for him.

 

Storming over to the door, he locked and latched it, throwing a chair under the handle for good measure.

 

The Aussie knew he was being overdramatic- well, he  _ was _ always the drama queen, wasn’t he?

 

He grabbed a handful of the deadly nuts and threw them in his mouth.

 

Instantly he started to gag, but still scooped more nuts into his mouth.

 

He pulled the bowl towards him as he collapsed, the bowl smashing on the floor and the nuts rolling everywhere.

 

He spasmed, his saliva foaming at his mouth as he choked. His body thrashed and his head banged against the floor more times than he could count, most likely altering the people below him something was wrong.

 

No doubt they'd call reception to get someone to check on him.

 

But then it'd be too late.

  
  


His head lashed backward, mouth open in a silent scream, face blue from lack of oxygen.

With one last spasm, his body tensed, then fell limp.

  
  
  


Daniel Ricciardo was dead.

  
  
  
  


_ Name:  _ _ Daniel Joseph Ricciardo _

_ Time of death: 23:39 _

_ Type of death: Asphyxiation from allergic reaction (anaphylactic shock) _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if Dan had an allergy to cashew nuts, but oh well.
> 
> One of my friends is, so I probably got it from that.
> 
> Oh well.
> 
> Remember, none of this happened. This is just my messed up mind.


	8. Daniel Ricciardo- I'll See You Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max reacts to Dan's suicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well fuck
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G3Z8gOettTo
> 
> This is such a sad song Imma go cry my eyes out now-
> 
> Song context- this was written when two members of the band dads died, so it's talking about missing a family member but hey, the paddock is like a family for the F1 drivers, right?  
> And it's never specified, unlike in "Too Hard To Say Goodbye" (also written for the dead dads), so this song could be used for a loved one, such as a boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse or even a friend.

Max whistled as he strolled into the press conference that Thursday. While he wasn’t keen on media duty, he would much rather be doing something than sitting in his hotel room.

 

He rubbed his hands together and wiggled his toes in his rather thin trainers he chided himself for wearing. Why hadn’t he put on his warmer boots? No-one would’ve cared, his feet would be under the table anyway.

He supposed his feet would warm up in the room.

 

The Dutchman slid into his seat next to Sergey, who had already arrived and was wearing a rather sensible Williams jumper and joggers, making Max look somewhat stupid in his t-shirt and shorts.

 

Sergey acknowledges this and gives him a rather compromising look. Max huffed. “Shut up Sergey.”

 

The conference was long and boring, and Max spent most of his time staring at the table, only looking up to answer the questions aimed at him.

 

“Hey Max, have you seen Dan? He’s not picking up his phone and no-one’s seen him in the paddock today.” Christian asked as Max exited the conference room.

 

Max shook his head. “I’m going back to the hotel anyway, I’ll see if he’s still there.”

 

He opened the door to his hotel room and quickly exchanged his summer clothes for much more sensible, warmer ones.

 

Dan’s door was closed when Max found himself face-to-face with it. He brought his knuckle up and rapped on the door.

 

There was no answer.

 

Frowning, he knocked again.

 

Still no answer.

 

“Dan?”

 

Max bit his lip, normally Dan would be out by now, flashing Max a grin as he went on his way.

 

He feared the worst and hammered his fist against the wood. “Dan, open the door! It’s not funny anymore!”

 

Still silence greeted him.

 

He sprinted down to reception, breathlessly asking for the spare room key for room 365, fearing his friend was hurt or unconscious as he wasn’t answering-

 

The receptionist handed him the keycard and Max jumped the stairs two at a time, he needed to get to Dan, he must, he  _ had _ to.

 

He pressed the card against the pad and the door let out a small  _ click _ , signalling its opening.

 

The door was flung open and Max bundled into the room-

 

And fell flat on his face as his feet suddenly stopped under him.

 

He looked up, meeting Dan’s glassy eyes and leaden skin. Bubbled saliva ran down his chin and his face was slightly blue.

 

A smashed glass bowl lay to Dan’s left, and Max could see several cashew nuts sprawled about on the floor. The Dutchman’s hand flew to his mouth and his eyes darted back to Dan’s face.

 

He wouldn’t-   

 

“Max?”

 

Christian’s voice snapped him out of his trance, and he turned towards the door, Christian’s eyes widening as he catches sight of Dan’s body.

 

“What happened?” The Red Bull principle asked.

 

“I-I don’t know- I just came in andIfoundhimlikethisandIthinkhehadanallergicreactionbutwhywouldheeatcashewsheknowshe’sallergic-”

 

Max cut himself off as realisation him, his world crumbling around him.

 

“No-” He gasped,

 

“Max-”

 

“NO!” He screamed, grabbing Dan’s face. “WAKE UP DAN! IT’S NOT FUNNY ANYMORE-”

 

Arms wrapped around his chest and heaved him up, despite the younger’s kicking and screaming, tears streaming down his cheeks as the hotel staff dragged him out of the room and into his own.

 

Max faceplanted into his pillow, still sobbing.

 

“Max…”

 

His head snapped up, glancing around the room.

 

Huh, he thought he heard-

 

“Max.”

 

Max almost fell out of his bed, his breathing increasing, heart pounding-

 

Dan was sitting on his bed, smiling at him.

 

“But-but you’re dead.” Max gasped. He laughed bitterly. “I’m going mad.”

 

“You already were.” Dan flashed his trademark grin. 

 

“Gone but not forgotten…” Max breathed and Dan leaned in to kiss him.

 

His lip were just like Max remembered- soft, but not too soft, the tissue slightly rough from the wind and Dan’s lip-biting habit.

 

“I’m so blessed to have had you in my life.” Dan smiled through the tears flowing down his face.

 

“When I had the time to tell you, I never thought I'd live to see the day-” Max’s voice broke as he sang gently. Dan shushed him, placing a finger to his lip.

 

“When the words I should have said would come to haunt me. In my darkest hour I tell myself I'll see you again.” Max wrapped his arms around Dan’s neck.

 

“I feel you walk beside me.” He mumbled into the crook of Dan’s neck.

 

“I’ll never leave you.” Dan murmured.

 

His form simmered and he was gone.

 

“Gone but not forgotten-” Max whispered.

 

He smiled to himself, tears dropping to the floor below him.

 

“ _ I’ll see you again _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sad now.
> 
> Don't get me wrong, I love this song but it's so sad and I really had to get the lyrics in here somehow cuz it just fits you know?
> 
> And I just wanted some DanxMax stuff, so have some fluffy ghost!Dan and Max bonding, and singing.
> 
> I feel like Dan would be "Gone but not forgotten", cuz no-one could forget Dan.
> 
> And the song ends with "No, this is not goodbye" which basically sums up the chapter cuz just because someone's dead doesn't mean it's goodbye. 
> 
> I'm off to go and cry now cuz holy FUCK it's long and depressing.


	9. Tomorrow There'll Be More Of Us (Lance/Valtteri/Kimi/Fernando/Daniel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sergey gets a visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slightly different kind of chapter, but I thought I'd give you a small break from drivers killing themselves and give you.... this.  
> Whatever it is.

_Lance Stroll_

_29 October 1998- 15 August 2018_

_Aged 19 years_

 

_Valtteri Bottas_

_28 August 1989- 28 August 2018_

_Aged 29 years_

 

_Kimi Räikkönen_

_17 October 1979- 3 October 2018_

_Aged 38 years_

 

_Fernando Alonso_

_29 July 1981- 11 November 2018_

_Aged 37 years_

 

_Daniel Ricciardo_

_1 July 1989- 1 December 2018_

_Aged 29 years_

  
  


Sergey sat on the bench opposite the wall the FIA had erected in memory of the lost drivers.

One thing that bugged him was the fact they had made the wall too big for the five plaques on there.

Almost as if they were expecting more names to be commemorated.

The Russian tensed as he felt a small whoosh of cold air next to him.

He knew what- _who_ \- it was. He had felt it before.

At Lance’s funeral.

Sure enough, when Sergey raised his gander, his eyes met the warmth of Lance's cold gaze.

He turned to look behind him and saw them.

Valtteri, Kimi, Fernando and Daniel. All pure white with icy irises.

The Russian’s breath hitched as Lance leaned in towards him.

“ _Tomorrow there'll be more of us._ ”

Lance’s breath felt like icicles on his skin.

The ghost of the young Canadian stood up and took Fernando’s outstretched hand, all five ghosts disappearing as sharply as they arrived.

A chill went down Sergey’s spine. What had Lance been talking about- _tomorrow there'll be more of us_?

He stopped and stood abruptly, running towards the Williams hospitality.

He had to find George and make sure he was okay.

Tomorrow another one bites the dust.

  


Tomorrow another suicide will happen.

  


Tomorrow there'll be more of them.

  
  
  


But the question is, _who_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I have a thing for ghost relationships.  
> If a ghost did this to me, I'd either made besties with the ghost and write stories about them or admit myself to the nearest mental asylum, and still write stories about it.  
> Probably more the first one tbh.
> 
> Also, dad Alonso anyone? Even in death he's still looking out for the paddock babies (ie Lance)
> 
> If anyone gets the reference of the title and Lance’s weird quote, I'd be super impressed (it's not what you first imagine, delve deeper).
> 
> Feel free to debate who Lance is talking about in the comments.
> 
> Kimi knows (and me but I'm irrelevant here)


	10. Charles Leclerc- slit wrists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A misunderstanding costs Charles his job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

_ Stupid, irresponsible, reckless, insensitive _

 

Charles lashed violently at his arms with each word that ran through his mind.

 

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid _

 

It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t do it. Not that anyone believed him, he was the new guy, the one they can’t trust.

 

The one who lost his job.

 

Sauber didn’t want him, no-one did, his reputation was destroyed.

 

All because one person couldn’t own up to leaking information.

Information Charles couldn’t possibly know.

 

Not that anyone believed him when he said so.

 

He had just been shoved out the door like an unwanted dog.

  
  


The tiles beneath him were stained red, the grout an ugly shade of brown. There were splashes on the wall and on the sink, crimson on white.

 

The blood flowed down his arm as Charles cut deeper into the skin.

 

_ Unwanted, unneeded, useless, unreliable _ .

 

The silver of the knife flashed in the fluorescent light. He brought the tip to his left wrist and pushed it down hard, stabbing through his ulnar artery, the knife coming through the other side of his wrist.

 

The Monegasque dragged the knife along his arm, severing the artery. Blood spurted from his wrist like a fountain.

 

He yanked the knife out and slit his other wrist, relief flooding him as he saw the blood pour out.

 

Charles staggered, clutching onto the sink as blackness invaded his vision.

He stepped back, his foot sliding on the lake of blood and he fell backwards.

 

There was a thunk as the Monegasque’s head collided with the porcelain of the bathtub, knocking him out.

 

Charles lay unconscious in an expanding pool of his own blood, his heartrate slowing with every minute that passed.

  
  


The river of blood flowing from his wrist slowly ceased as Charles’ head lolled to one side.

His chest rose and fell tantalising slowly.

Slower and slower and slower and…

 

He let out a breath, but this time his chest refused to rise.

  
  


Charles Leclerc was dead.

  
  
  


_ Name:  _ _  Charles Leclerc _

_ Time of death: 16:42 _

_ Type of death: Blood loss from severed  _ _ ulnar artery in wrist _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn't think I was gonna update this story on Christmas day, huh?  
> Bet cha didn’t.
> 
> Anyway, have some ansty baby Charles (who is super adorable by the way and I will kill anyone who hurts him).
> 
> Ideas for the next chapter are much appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, merry Christmas!


	11. Charles Leclerc- Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Paddock finds out about Charles' suicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/JZhpcq0J8CU
> 
> I was crying by the end of this.
> 
> I had to do a bit of digging and one of the working titles was "Soledad" by Westlife.

Marcus glanced at his watch. It was gone half ten and there was supposed to have been a press conference half an hour ago.

 

Which Charles didn’t turn up to.

 

At first Marcus thought Charles had been caught in traffic on his way to the Paddock, then he thought Charles had overslept.

Now he was worried.

 

When the conference ended, Marcus decided to head back to the hotel Charles was staying in and headed to the Monegasque’s room.

 

“Charles? Are you okay in there?” The Swede asked, knocking on his ex-teammate’s door.

No reply.

 

A housekeeper walked by just at that minute and Marcus grabbed her arm, sprouting something about his friend being injured and he needed a key to get into the room so he could them.

 

The housekeeper gave him a sceptical look, but after knocking and being met with silence herself, opened the door for Marcus while she radioed down to reception to ask them to call for an ambulance.

 

Marcus rushed into Charles’ room. The first thing that caught his eye was the closed bathroom door.

His heart dropped to his stomach as he headed over, trying the door handle and finding it locked.

 

The ex-Sauber driver took a deep breath, bringing his leg up and kicking the door with all his might. The hinges creaked and a black mark from his trainers stained the white, but the door stayed closed.

 

He kicked it a couple more times and finally the door gave way. Marcus fell forward and stumbled into the bathroom.

 

His breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of Charles.

 

The Monegasque was lying a pool of dark, dried blood, the red staining his white top. His skin was almost as white as the floor tiles, there was a rather large gash on the back of his head and dried blood splattered across the rim of the bathtub.

 

Marcus’ hand flew to his mouth as he noted the bloodied knife that sat by Charles’ side.

He knelt down by Charles’ side and pressed two fingers to his ex-teammate’s neck, searching for a pulse.

 

Nothing.

 

Two paramedics pushed past him and a third pulled him away from Charles’ body.

  


Once alone, the Swede finally allowed tears to run down his cheeks. Charles had been so young, he had such a bright future ahead of him with a seat in one of the biggest Formula One teams.

What caused Charles to kill himself?

 

Marcus jumped up, wiping his face on the sleeve of his hoodie and ran out of his room towards the Paddock.

 

Immediately Sebastian pounced on him.

 

“Where’s Charles? What's happened to him?” The German was rambling frantically.

 

“He-he.” Marcus took a deep breath.

“He killed himself. Last night. Slit his wrists.”

 

The colour drained from Sebastian’s face. His mouth hung open and he started hyperventilating.

 

“No he-he didn't. Not again! He can't have! Not again!” He screamed and collapsed to the floor. Marcus darted forward and managed to grab the German before he hit the ground.

  


The Ferrari crew were horrified when Sebastian announced Charles’ death.

 

Whilst they weren't entirely happy with Charles at that moment- still under the impression he had leaked information- they would never wish death upon him.

 

Marcus sat in his driver’s room the morning of the funeral, watching the snowfall settle on the ground.

 

“ _Now it's cold without you here_ _  
_ _It's like winter lasts all year_ ” His breath fogged up the frosted window and he closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cold glass.

 

“ _So I won't say goodbye_ _  
_ _I don't have to say goodbye_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Charles.  
> I feel bad now.
> 
> I was supposed to write this for yesterday, but because I'm a lazy ass I only just got round to writing it today but I wrote most of it in an hour so I'm kinda proud of myself.

**Author's Note:**

> Holy fuck.
> 
> There is a story behind this... story.
> 
> Okay, so I couldn't get to sleep last night and at around 2 am my brain just randomly went
> 
> "Hey, you know what would make a good story? Formula 1 drivers committing suicide, like what you did to Lance."
> 
> And so it started making up Valtteri committing suicide, and I go through his suicide, the reaction to his suicide, Kimi's suicide and I was halfway through the reaction to Kimi dying when I fell asleep.
> 
>  
> 
> Yes, I fucking fell asleep thinking of Kimi committing suicide.
> 
>  
> 
> What the fuck is wrong with me?
> 
>  
> 
> And to make it even worse, when I woke up, my brain just went "okay, so the police have found Kimi's body, continue."


End file.
